Riches
by fandomhive
Summary: When Arthur Kirkland wins 35,000 on a scratch card, he uses the money as a golden ticket to flee from his problems with his best friend Alfred. But is money really the solution to everything?


_When Arthur Kirkland wins £35,000 on a scratch card, he uses the money as a golden ticket to flee from his problems with his best friend Alfred. But is money really the solution to everything?_

Ecstatic. Fucking ecstatic.  
If somebody had told me yesterday that thirty-five-thousand pounds would be the side to my watery morning coffee, I would have laughed. But staring down at that scratchcard filled me with such incomprehendable happiness, and _hope_.  
I'd be buying Malburo that day.

Perhaps I should rewind. I'm Arthur Kirkland, seventeen years of age. I live in England with my mother, my father, and my brothers. I'm the fourth son. As a result, I'm often looked over instead of looked after. James, Edward and Mark Kirkland would be the bane of my existence if my father quite literally didn't beat them to the punch.  
[Or just the plain old '_faggot'_. It depends what mood he happens in.]  
I can't say it's all _so_ bad. My brothers do care about me, as annoying as they are, and I love my mother. She's a wonderful woman, if not a tad too forgiving towards my father.

She tells me to _try _and see through his perspective.  
_He didn't expect a gay son,_ she'd say, _so it must be a shock to him! It will pass. He just didn't see it coming._  
What a bombshell it must have been. I never liked sports. You wouldn't catch me wearing baggy pants with my hands thrust down the front, either. I didn't want to cut my hair short or purposefully leave my reading glasses at home to look cool, staying out late and pulling any girl I could find.  
I liked reading and gardening and horseriding.

"I want you to stop going to that Polish lad's house all the time, son."  
"-Toris is Lithuanian."  
"It's all the same to me. I don't want you going over there now. Understood? Not now the neighborhoods' found out his Dad is a raging queer. He's been shagging the dentist, the disgusting fuck. Try catching him in the pub now. He'll be scared of showing his face, eh?"

I'd smile and nod weakly and go to my room.

Fast forward a few years and he caught me in the most unsavory of circumstances in my bedroom. Eyes shut tight and legs behind my head, holding on to some boy who-_what was his name again?_ I was piss drunk, it didn't matter. I hardly felt it when Dad struck me across the face, but I remember the look in his eyes, clear as day. Furious, and somewhat betrayed. I was sick in my lap.

I often think about that night. If I had a pound for each time I'd fucked up, I'd be out of here. But that night was the worst of them all.

I'm nothing like my best friend.

His name is Alfred Jones, and he's so very _different_.  
He's straight-laced and friendly, with a very American-dreamboy feel to him. The sort of kid who'd risk a beating at the expense of helping somebody weaker than him. It's his only flaw, really. I find myself practically pulling my hair out when his heroic nature crosses into dangerous territory, which is often. It's only because he's kind, and I know that he can't resist rushing to somebody's aid.

Alfred, unlike me, is by no means weak; at seventeen years old he's already sporting a fantastic six pack hidden modestly beneath his shirt, and he trains hard enough nightly to work off the obscene quantity of fast-food meals he consumes. I envy that. But I can't bring myself to hate him, not ever. He's all I've got and our friendship is all I'd ever need.

Hunched somewhere in a run-down coffee shop, Arthur's hands were shaking. They held the precious scratch card and carefully stroked the winning marks. Fingers brushed over them again and again, admiring and excited of the hope they promised.

"Arthur, hey. Sorry about taking so long- Mattie was getting all worked up about his studies. I don't see why. The kid's a genius. Anyway, I didn't want him to go crying to that Cuban dude about it like he _always flipping does, _so I thought I'd take on the role of caring bro. Are you having a coffee? I'm having a coffee."  
"I'll pay."  
"Hm?" Alfred raised a brow and grinned at Arthur with all of the playfulness of a puppy. "Are you being serious? I've known you for eight years and not _once _have you offered to buy me a drink. Are you feeling okay or something?" he chuckled, sitting himself down in one of the plush seats. "Anyway, about that text you sent me. What's the big news?

Arthur's lips twisted into a smile of their own. It wasn't often that such a pure expression graced his otherwise unimpressed features, but the excitement was clear and it radiated.

"Look." He slid the red card over to Alfred, hands still trembling. "Look how much I won."

It took the American a few seconds before blue eyes widened in excitement, and then utter disbelief.  
"You've got to be joking." Alfred thumbed the print, idly scraping the surface.

"Be careful!" Arthur's voice was shrill as he quickly pulled the card back. "You don't want to scratch it off now, do you? Then I'll be broke again."  
"It's not so bad, Artie. We live in a good area-"  
"-Yes, in a lovely big house where nobody cares about whether or not I go without. You don't know what it's like to be the runt."

Alfred scoffed, his naivety getting the better of him. "As a matter of fact, I totally do! I'm younger than Mattie."  
Arthur rolled his eyes and gave a familiar sigh. "Younger by seven minutes and thirty-three seconds." He grumbled with an agitated tone that hinted he'd pointed this out many times before.

"And he never lets me forget it."

There was a long silence whilst the two drank their coffee, exited the shop into the cold morning air and shoved their hands into their pockets.  
"So…what're you going to do with all of that money?"  
Arthur leaned back against a small brick wall and lit his cigarette. He shivered a little, burying his chin into his scarf.  
"I don't know. I'll probably save some…and then buy things I need, I suppose. Better school books, good clothes. Who knows, maybe I'll find a hot boyfriend who'll fall in love and steal the new and sexy me away to his mansion and I'll leave here once and for all."

Alfred could tell that there was bitterness in Arthur's tone. Ignoring the foul scent of his cigarette, his slipped an arm around his shoulder and gave him a friendly pat. In his usual optimistic manner, he adjusted his glasses and grinned up at the sky.

"Just think of what you could buy. Okay, so I know there aren't many fun things you can think of at this age that would cost so much. But at least _conside_r it. An unnecessarily expensive watch, a car, some clothes- no, an entire _wardrobe _of new clothes…video games, fancy food and alcohol, consoles, a phone, a laptop….a _holiday._ Think about it. A fucking amazing holiday. No adults, no brothers…just a trip all around the world. Think of the people you'd meet! Italians, Germans, Spanishians…"  
"-I'm pretty sure that's not the word-"  
"-A couple of stinky Frenchies.. you could go partying in Greece, or snail slurping in France, or skiing in Switzerland, or robot-building in Japan-"  
"-You're being awfully stereotypical here."  
"Does it matter? I'm totally getting my point across!" Alfred flashed Arthur his winning boyish grin, but the response was oddly quiet.

"Okay."

"What do you mean, 'okay'?"  
"Let's do it." A small, calculating smile tugged on Arthur's mouth. "Let's go on holiday, just us. We'll bring our passports and clothes and nothing else. We can go from country to country-"  
"Art…I was only _joking. _I don't have the money to do that kinda stuff, and you know it. I was just trying to get you psyched up for spending! I mean, if you really want to go you could ask your brothers, but I doubt that would be fun."  
"You're coming with me. I'll pay."

Alfred laughed nervously, glancing over at Arthur. His green-eyed gaze was utterly serious, and his lips were trembling with a smile trapped between a cigarette.  
"…Okay."


End file.
